I Like Those Boots
by MatveyJeevas
Summary: Two young men are talking about popcorn, picnics, and alternate universes when a hoard of Clickers arrives to interrupt their conversation. Annoyed, they eliminate the monsters and have to deal with a somewhat difficult situation. Was rated M, but is now T; violence and swearing, read at your own risk. Oneshot.


_What if Infected didn't exist?_

Well, life would be a lot different. Do you remember before?

_Nah, I was only two._

I was five. I remember it pretty well, but I try to forget… I mean, once we reached the quarantine zone it was safe and all, but...

_But what if Infected didn't exist? What would we be doing right now? This very second?_

Hmm… maybe… having a picnic?

_It's raining._

Watching a movie. Eating popcorn. Popcorn is the best.

_I love popcorn._

Me too. Butter and salt. Damn. That shit's good.

_Did you hear that?_

Nah, man—hold up. Shit, I heard it. Is it the tourist?

_It's the fucking tourist. I'm gonna blow his fucking brains out._

We need backup.

_We can take out one dude._

He's got a companion.

_What, the little girl? I can smash her head._

They might hear us. Shh.

The two young men readied their guns, heartbeats accelerating from the thrill of the battle. They crept behind a wall, listening for any sign of life. A faint sound of _rrrrrrrraaaa… rrrrtttta….. tttta…. rrrrr….. _echoed from some brick walls, and both of them clutched the guns tighter. This was no human they were dealing with. It was Infected.

_Shit. It's a Clicker._

The other one didn't respond, and he started to walk slowly toward the blind creature, a glass bottle in one hand and Molotov cocktail in the other. He threw the glass bottle several yards in front of him, and the creature, now excited, ran toward where he'd thrown it. Without any hesitation, he tossed the Molotov in the same spot and the creature screamed in pain as it fell to the ground, thrashing and clutching at flesh that didn't exist.

The men let out deep breaths. It was over; the Clicker was dead. Okay, good. They walked up to it and looked at the charred remains, head like a mushroom and clothes moldy. But they knew it wasn't fungi; the skull had actually broken and brains poured out, masking the eyes and obstructing any vision. It was designed to kill anything it could get its claws on, always listening, for years and years.

_Nice one._

Thanks.

_I'm kinda hungry. Do you wanna—fuck, fuck, another, you hear that? I think there's more than one._

I fucking hate Infected. Let's get this over with. How many bullets you got?

_I got enough._

Take this Molotov.

They started forward again, quietly, and were surprised to hear a high-pitched scream reverberate through their ears, loud, scared, and impossibly stupid. It didn't sound like the cries and moans of a Runner—no, this was something much more alive. This was a human. A human running away from… how many Clickers? They squinted and saw six.

As they got closer to the screaming person, they identified a young woman, about the same age as them, in a dark green shirt and faded blue jeans. She was spotted with red here and there, her platinum blond hair caked with mud and water and blood. From the looks of her, she was a tourist, but who she was and what she was doing, well, they didn't give a fuck. They readied their guns and aimed at the Clickers. She ran right past the men, jumping behind an old car for cover.

We'll deal with her after this.

_Alright. I got this one!_

They attacked the monsters. Three shots in the head and one fell down, a Molotov and two more burned to the ground, and the older man used a makeshift knife to pierce the fourth and fifth Clickers to death. This was a scary yet somehow invigorating task. When one's life is at stake, it seems to become a game—of course, a survival game, but as boys play in the grass with their brothers, these men, not much older than children, sliced open the throats of these things that once called themselves Joanna or James or Katherine or Emily. The sixth one got blasted by the younger man's rifle, and when all the bodies lay bleeding and broken in a disjointed pile, they looked behind themselves and walk toward the young girl, guns still in hand.

_Hey there._

"O-oh my god…" she said shakily, hugging herself as they approached. "Thank you… thank you so much… they would have-"

She didn't finish speaking because the younger man put a bullet through her head. Her expression of eternal gratitude etched itself on her face and would never go away, for she didn't even realize for a split second that they didn't care about her. They rolled their eyes as she slumped in her own pool of blood, and walked forward to check her pockets.

_Check out this candy. Oooh man. This was an awesome find._

She got anything else?

_I like those boots._

Get 'em before the blood gets 'em.

They removed her boots and socks, then dropped her legs and stood up, stretching and groaning. It had been a long day, and the threat of that tourist that would come and kill them still loomed over their heads. The tourist had killed a lot of their friends already, and they were prepared to go through hell if it meant having his head on a silver platter of blood and gore.

The younger hunter stared at the dead girl for a few seconds, cocking his head slightly at her pathetic position, and frowning slightly as he remembered her last words.

_What if I married her?_

What the fuck?

_I mean—if there weren't any Infected. What if we were normal people, and we met one day on the street? And what if I fell in love with this girl? And what if we got married?_

She's fucking dead.

_Yeah, but…_

Shut the hell up, dude. Don't be a fucking dumbass. Let's head back now, come on. You want your dead girlfriend's jacket?

_No, dude, I was just saying, if there weren't Infected, I wouldn't have killed her._

No fucking shit, Sherlock.

…_Whatever, man. I need to get laid. You need to get laid._

There's probably gonna be some more bitches coming here soon.

_Fuck and kill. We ever gonna let a bitch join us?_

No way. Don't want you to start getting engaged.

_Whatever. Let's go._

I've been saying that the whole fucking time.


End file.
